


Roces: Touch [English Version]

by DenisSeibel



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Hurt, Jazz Noire, M/M, One-Shot, Soulmates, Translation, Victuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-27 02:29:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15014666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DenisSeibel/pseuds/DenisSeibel
Summary: [AU - Soulmates - One-Shot Victuri]The soulmates exist they are a natural system so that the union between people is eternal. However, nature is not perfect and, like human beings, it makes some mistakes. The anti-soul syndrome is one of them and Yuri Katsuki suffers it. As a result, he is unable to confirm by rubbing skin against skin whether the person he loves is truly his soulmate or not.◘•◘•◘•◘•◘•◘•◘•◘•◘•◘•◘•◘•◘•◘•◘•◘•◘•◘•◘•◘•◘♦ This story is a translation of "Roces" written by Jazz Noire, who gave me permission to do it.♦ Do not copy or adapt this story without the author's authorization.♦ Yuri!!! on Ice characters are not mine. They belong to Kubo and Sayo [MAPPA study]





	Roces: Touch [English Version]

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Roces](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/390893) by Jazz Noire. 



Yuri raises one of his arms to the ceiling. On his ring finger a tinkle of golden light is reflected in his eyes and, for a few seconds, it makes him smile. He is married and justly his husband admires him from the other side of the bed, where he eats away at himself in the need to approach and possess Yuri. He looks at him with eyes tinged with desire and hunger while Yuri detaches himself from each piece of clothing and exposes before his husband his white, almost translucent skin. Then, once naked, he proceeds to touch himself. Yuri takes the time to go around his body, so that his husband admires him in detail, before reaching the final attraction that lies between his legs. Victor goes through it too, but only with his gaze, the same one that seems to bite every piece of Yuri's length as if it were a sugar cube. He wants to believe with all his strength that those hands that delineate Yuri are dealing with his own, that Victor himself can experience every afternoon what it is to touch and taste him. The tender texture of his skin for sure tastes sweetened. There is a desire that darkens him and a need to approach and devour Yuri completely that rots him from inside; but Victor can't get closer. That's why he masturbates roughly, almost with rage, while Yuri also walks in the same direction, albeit more gently, towards the edge of the abyss. All that is not a fetish or a fantasy that they share, it's the only possibility they have of sharing intimacy.

After the fall, dissatisfaction becomes present in both. And silence. The tension. It's not enough, it never has been. Fears, hatred and rage are reborn again from their bodies worn out by an incomplete orgasm. Victor still looks at Yuri with desire, but beyond that, the infinite love he feels for Yuri is also reflected; and the pain that this generates together with the impossibility. Like every night, the frustration wins the game and he wants to cry because he can't stand it anymore.

"If I could only touch you..." His voice chokes on desire and love.

Yuri looks at him then. His smile melts on his lips, in better and painful gestures.

"You would kill me."

  •*¨*•.¸¸.•*¨*••*¨*•.¸¸.•*¨*••*¨*•.¸¸.•*¨*•  

The soulmates exist, and only among them and relatives of the same blood can they touch each other. Touching skin with skin with any stranger causes burning and painful lacerations in the area of the touch that sometimes leave permanent marks; and depending on the time, the extension and the amount, a person can die because of them.

Accidental rubbing is common in a coexistence environment, and people, social beings by nature, could not live in isolation from each other. That's why thick garments of special materials were created that allowed the acid effect to be extinguished by the touch of strange skins. Jackets, long-sleeved shirts, pants, gloves, any garment that allows a touch, a hug, a simple handshake between acquaintances.

Nature is wise; it was responsible for providing people with an effective system so that the union between souls was perfect and eternal, so that there were no mistakes, pain, and loss of time with other beings that ultimately don't turn out to be those who complement them. Always the discovery is born with a  _hunch_ , an instinct that brings out something in the chest when they see for the first time  _that_  person. To touch is the only way to confirmation so that there is no doubt, but almost ninety percent of the hunches are right, it is  _he_ , it is  _she_.

But nature is not perfect, and like human beings, sometimes it makes some mistakes. The  _anti-soul syndrome_  is one of them and perhaps one of the worst. The people who suffer it cannot be touched by anyone: the burns are born on their skin at the slightest touch, regardless of whether it's with a family member of their own blood or even with their soulmate; even though they can touch others without causing any consequences, as if the whole world belonged to their family or their destiny. This leads as a consequence that those affected by this syndrome are unable to recognize their soulmate beyond the initial hunch. There is no confirmation, they always live in uncertainty and, more than that, they suffer from a love that makes it impossible for them to concretize it in all senses. Physical love is a complement, but an essential one, transcendent.

The anti-soul syndrome is strange, almost unknown, because only one in ten thousand people suffer from it. And Yuri Katsuki is part of that 0.01%.

    •*¨*•.¸¸.•*¨*••*¨*•.¸¸.•*¨*••*¨*•.¸¸.•*¨*•    

Yuri and Victor met at an art exhibition in the city. Yuri was a waiter; Victor the honor guest: a plastic artist recognized for his work in sculpture, art where it's essential to work with the hands, the constant friction with materials and objects products of his passion.

The hunch was immediate from both of them, they felt all what people say they feel when it happens: nervousness; sweating in the hands; suffocation and tachycardia in the chest; the implacable need to throw himself at the other and kiss him, to clasp him in his arms as hard as if they wanted to join him; the impossibility of moving his eyes away from his; the pressure in the mouth of his stomach that could make them vomit. Victor smiled so wide, so happy and full of accomplishment, that he didn't care to throw his abundant glass of champagne on the floor and run to Yuri as the meeting he had always wanted. Everyone was shocked in time just to witness the beautiful scene of the encounter of soulmates. Some even cried with emotion. But Yuri, more than having an expression of pleasure and joy similar to that of Victor, began to suffer. He always wished that moment never happened.

The artist put off one of his dark gloves and left his skin exposed. He extended that bare hand to the stranger as one who grants his whole life to only one person. His look was pleading, of ' _please, touch me; I know it's you, you have to be you_ '. But Yuri, with tears lacerates on his cheeks, found enough strength to reject the instinct, that painful desire to stay and go to him, that ' _I also feel it, it's you'_ , and managed to leave the place.

Victor looked at him in silence, incredulous, maybe with a broken heart. Everyone reacted in a similar way. It was the first time that all those people witnessed as someone fled a hunch without daring to confirm if they were soulmates or not. Of course no one understood, much less the same man who put the glove back and finally went after the stranger, but too late, it was impossible to reach him, even visualize his figure among an unknown crowd that crowded together.

He didn't stay with his arms crossed, of course, not when the image of that nameless boy remained so intact in his head that, from that day, he dreamed every night with him, with the meeting and the verification of his hands rubbing without pain that they weren't able to carry out. Without appetite, with a desolation that tasted so eternal, he set out to search for it in a huge city, but on which there was a marked trace of him. Yuri had a life, a job, an identity and a home to trace. Or maybe it was destiny that allowed him to find and join all the enough pieces of his trail too easily.

For Yuri it was a dream and a nightmare to see Victor appear one day in front of his door, to attack it when Yuri wanted to close it in his face and, with a bare hand, caress his cheek. Victor did it with love and sincerity, with the softness of someone who caresses the lover of his life, but Yuri's skin burned with the simple touch and the burn was present so clearly that Victor also resented it despite the fact that his fingers remained healthy, intact. He had been so sure that this boy was his soulmate, and now he felt as someone approached him and stabbed him in the chest to tear him to pieces. It would be simple for Yuri to just let him go, let Victor believe that both had been wrong, that they were only impostor soulmates; but something won in his head, something made him stop and tell him the truth: about his illness, about his condition, about the ' _I also think it's you, but we can't prove it._   _Even if you are, if you touch me, you're going to burn me, to hurt me a lot'._

      •*¨*•.¸¸.•*¨*••*¨*•.¸¸.•*¨*••*¨*•.¸¸.•*¨*•       _  
_

Everyone knows the stories of impostor soulmates: people who claim to have found their soulmate, to experience each of the classic symptoms of the hunch; but which, when touched, burn with each other. Both feel that their hearts are torn when they discover that they have made a mistake and suffer the same agony as those who are separated from their destined. However, after a time of sleepless nights, lack of appetite and encouragement to life, they return to experience all the jumble of emotions to finally meet with who is possible the touch, his true soulmate.

Yuri lived in the agony that this was his situation with Victor; He was so afraid that his case would be none other than the one of impostor soulmates and that Victor would one day find his real destined. Yuri didn't want to give Victor the opportunity to let his feelings for him swell up to occupy every corner of his chest, for the illusion to feed and then be cruelly discarded when they discovered that they had made a mistake. Victor would live happily with his true soulmate, but Yuri would have no one to vent the bitter gulp of their encounter.

That was the reason why he initially refused all contact with Victor. He refused his calls, tried not to open his knocks at the door, looked for all the necessary means to avoid the encounters that Victor tried every day, perhaps with more effort than him. But the artist was crazy about his person, so insane as to ensure that their love was genuine even if they had no way to prove it. He thought impossible that those feelings fitting him so deep were lie, the product of a simple imposture. He was so sure it was him, that they were both. And Yuri couldn't deny it forever either. In the end he didn't know what agony was worse: the fear of allowing Victor to enter only to see him go away later or never to allow him and to feel for all his life that acidic flaw in his being that could corrode him every second of his existence.

Even far away, even years and miles away, Yuri wasn't going to be able to wrest Victor from his memory anymore. And he felt it the same way. He prayed for Yuri so many times, in so many impressive and pathetic ways at the same time, that anyone would have felt sorry for him. They needed it, they needed each other. ' _You cannot keep away from you, it's you, damn it, it's you_ '. And Yuri swore that his illness wouldn't be an impediment, that being soulmates was the least if they were together. ' _I just want to be with you, the way it is'._

It was cruel for Yuri to allow Victor to live that way, without the possibility that his love could be completely consummated. Having to survive on the basis of hugs that transmitted nothing, neither heat nor presence, behind the thick layers of clothes. To take the hand with gloves between the touch, to look at the lips and the body with the desire to devour it and with the impotence of knowing that it was impossible. But in the end, Yuri couldn't stand it and gave way. He let himself be loved and loved Victor despite the consequences.

       •*¨*•.¸¸.•*¨*••*¨*•.¸¸.•*¨*••*¨*•.¸¸.•*¨*•        

After the fall into the abyss, comes the blow, the impact that grinds their entire being. Both are observed, naked, but with looks plagued with sadness and despair. Each time, their only possibility of 'making love' falls short, so short that the feeling of dissatisfaction intensifies to unbearable levels; and more than love, there is hatred, there is courage, but not against the other, but against themselves, against life, against the damn disease that has ended up contaminating them both. They are fed up. How to love themselves so much when they can't touch each other? When their bodies remain so close, but the gap between the two opens more and more; when the texture and taste of the other's lips, after ten years together, is still so unknown to them.

Yuri closes his eyes tightly, not only to contain the crying, but because he hates it so much that Victor looked at him in that way, like the hungry one who knows that he is going to die and can't do anything to avoid it.  _It's his limit, right?_ It is told by the burning in his chest, the same that surpasses in agonic levels any burn that he had received in life.

He stands up. Víctor thinks that he only intends to dress again, so he can't react before Yuri throws himself at him and holds Victor tightly in his arms, as if it doesn't hurt, as if his skin doesn't start to boil under those centimeters of skin that rub against theirs. For a few seconds Victor doesn't understand what it's that warm and perfect feeling that surrounds his body. He doesn't feel pain, he doesn't suffer and; therefore, he feels wonderful that touch that for years he has wanted. But, barely aware of what it means, he pushes Yuri away with a confused cry, with a " _What the hell are you doing!? Do you want me to kill you!?"._  Burns lacerate Yuri's skin and some manage to bleed. Victor shudders and suffers from the scene; the sight alone makes him resent the wounds on his own body. It was worse than he ever imagined.

Yuri cries, not for the physical pain, but for the rejection. He just wanted to fulfill the desire that for so long they both have longed for. And he mutters to himself, to Victor, that that will never work. Burns are the least.

Victor is just a break from himself. See Yuri defeated, giving up after all they have fought for their love to survive, tearing him into small sharp pieces. But he is still willing to fight. He approaches his husband and, using the sheet of the bed as protection, as a barrier to prevent their bodies from rubbing directly, Victor holds Yuri close to his arms, so strong and so intense that he is able to feel it even on the cloth. It was the first time that he had become entangled in his body in that way.

Yuri is able to experience it, feel the opposite heat through the barrier. And it looks like the most beautiful sensations of his life.

"Never do that again, idiot, never again," Victor begins with a voice drowned in his own cry. "Because, although it often doesn't seem like it, it's enough, Yuri, it really is."

         •*¨*•.¸¸.•*¨*••*¨*•.¸¸.•*¨*••*¨*•.¸¸.•*¨*•          

Sometimes they are tempted at home. They excuse themselves for comfort, but both know that it is a lie. In their case, being in the house without jackets or gloves is a latent danger. Not because of the accidental frictions that are common, but because they torture each other with a temptation they cannot satisfy.

While they pretend to watch television or focus their interest on the book they hold with their bare hands, their eyes fall discreetly on those skin extracts in sight. They are observed with desire, like someone who sees pieces of intimate parts that are hardly reflected under a neckline, a skirt or semi-open trousers. The other knows that he is watched, and with the same unsuccessful discretion, one millimeter is approached, another more and another more until he crosses the line of danger, that which they call 'personal space'. But just before the madness, of losing control, one of them reacts in time to get away and destroy the achieved proximity. It is almost always Victor who does it.

Sometimes Yuri is more direct and cruel, like when they have lunch together and after leaving his cup on the table, he stretches out his arm and presents his bare hand before Victor. Yuri then gives him an intense look, one that without words makes it very clear that he begs for Victor to touch him. Victor almost always gets uncomfortable in his seat, sometimes even annoyed and indignant. With a quick denial, he stands up with the usual sour words: ' _I will not hurt you'_. Then the guilt eats Yuri when he is alone in the dining room, because he knows that he tortures Victor, which makes him increasingly difficult and painful to resist. And he feels bad and cries because he wants more than anything that Victor falls into temptation.

   •*¨*•.¸¸.•*¨*••*¨*•.¸¸.•*¨*••*¨*•.¸¸.•*¨*•      

It isn't the first time; it won't be the last: they have done it for almost thirty years.

The two of them look at each other static, their mouths dry and their hearts crushed in their chests. They are so close that they perceive the other's breath, they can distinguish in the opposite view that oppression that causes them to contain themselves, that self-deception that the little voice in their head provokes them to make them react before anyone commits that terrible mistake. They are about to kiss, again, but thinking about the consequences makes them shudder from the bowels, especially Victor, who has never been able to erase from his memory the scene of Yuri with his skin lacerated by burns. The recovery of them seemed eternal, and every time he looks at some of Yuri's body that left eternal marks, his heart explodes against his chest. He always felt responsible for that, for accepting again and again that game of making love through looks, which was more a toxic torture than a relief. But they never stopped doing it. It was also an addiction.

How long can they resist before one falls? For how long do they nourish themselves against the opposite breath before one gives way? They notice the pain in their eyes when they doubt in that way; when only millimeters separate them, although the real gap is still kilometric. And none falters; none dares to break the distance in any direction. Yuri because he expects Victor to be tempted at last neither Victor because he engenders a discarnate struggle with himself. It is almost always his fault that they end up in that situation; his instincts have betrayed him so many times that he can't take it anymore. Always based on pathetic excuses, of 'accidents' that could be easily avoided; but even the end is inescapable: the  _touch_  never materializes, this always stops for it cause when he feels Yuri's lips burn almost under his, and the image of that day, of that Yuri full of burns, is thrown at him in his memory like a projectile. The panic then overcomes the desire, the indecision, the frustration, and finally has the strength enough to get away and return to what they were supposed to be doing before, although it has been forgotten. Victor always avoids observing Yuri after that, because he knows that he will only see a fragile and sad face about to cry.

The day tries to continue as a routine, as if it hadn't been broken by another unsuccessful attempt, but things never return to normal. Nobody speaks until night, when they can no longer avoid looking at their faces before going to sleep. With apologies, tears and hundreds of ' _I love you_ ' as sincere as they feel, they embrace with thick clothes and sheets in between; then they love each other peacefully, calmly, as if all the pain and frustration vanished with that meeting of their looks, with those sweet words that they learned to give more meaning, more feelings born of those thirty years that have endured their disease together. And they smile sincerely when they cuddle, when they just talk to each other and tell each other the day, the plans. So until the dream succumbs to both and, in it, they learn to kiss.

     •*¨*•.¸¸.•*¨*••*¨*•.¸¸.•*¨*••*¨*•.¸¸.•*¨*•        

Yuri waits, Victor dies. With almost ninety years, it is the only thing that can be expected. It's the natural cycle of life and none has anything to regret that has been in their hands. Although there are many things to recriminate the unjust life; their relationship, their love, that exact second that made them meet and fall in love is not one of them. It was difficult and many times it seemed impossible, but in one way or another they were genuinely happy. And more than with effort, it was thanks to the acceptance: accept that being soulmates or not was the least; that the touches between them would always be non-existent and that in the end it didn't matter. They loved each other and believed that this feeling was real, perpetual, enough for them to continue and overcome. All others could have their intended, could kiss and touch them at will, but only they had been able to sustain thanks to an intense love that was nourished by uncertainty, with the daily struggle and ' _today we have to be happy and love us with everything that is possible for us, because maybe tomorrow we can't_ '.

Yuri looks at his husband and knows: he only has a few minutes left. Sitting next to him, he takes his hand on the same thick cloth as always that prevents them from feeling something beyond that. But his love managed to make that enough, although at that moment, in the final moments, Yuri no longer seems at all. He thought a lot about the possibility of committing insanity, one like so many years ago in his youth. Since the doctors told him that Victor would not survive to see one more dawn, he finally made the decision.

Both don't say anything; they have said goodbye before death snatched Victor's last grams of sanity. But they look attentively, as if they wanted to record in each final moment every detail of the opposite face and admire its beauty despite age: each of its wrinkles, the spots and marks of his skin, the loving smile on cracked lips and the brightness that, somewhat opaque for years, still gives off a unequaled light of love and affection that only the other is able to see, feel and interpret.

When more dreamy they are, admiring themselves to each other, Yuri separates a little and releases the hold of his hand. Victor looks curious, somewhat moribund, without thinking much about reasons. And in that way Victor observes Yuri getting rid of his gloves with the same slowness and softness as he did years ago, during that ritual that they had to call 'making love'. To look at each other, to touch themselves while the other one admired, to imagine in real time that it was his hands that went through it. But Yuri's fingers, instead of continuing through his own body, touch Victor's right cheek. Skin with skin, Yuri is burned, consumed in an intense burn. And he laughs, almost ecstatic with the pain. Victor looks at him with concern, almost in panic, without having the strength to remove those fingers that burn as if they touched direct fire. He is supposed to be the one who must rave about death, not his husband. Victor tries to interrogate him with his eyes, to try to pronounce the question, to beg him to stay away, not to continue hurting himself in that way; but Yuri continues with the friction, with the path on his skin, undoing his fingers in the process. But, on his lips, is the happiest and joyful smile that Victor could ever see him. Yuri begs Victor to close his eyes and allow himself to enjoy it as much as he does. After all, at what point does it matter? When he is about to die and Yuri will also soon.

It's Yuri's smile that melts his heart, which convinces Victor to obey and experience that which both of them longed for so long. For Yuri, the pain becomes one of the best experiences of his life, because he believes that it's the natural and unique heat of Victor that burns him. And that means that they actually touch each other, that for the first time they feel in detail, that way life deprived them throughout their existence. His chest is filled with heat, and it beats faster and happier than ever before. Victor also enjoys it like never before. The feeling is much better than he came to believe in his most lucid dreams. His closed eyes allow him to enjoy it completely, to feel as his whole being fills with experience, as if that minimal, almost imperceptible chunk that he had needed for a full existence, appeared at last. He always had the conviction that Yuri was his soulmate, but if ever the opposite fears made him stagger, now he can hold himself more firmly than ever, and having a voice and time to do it, he would shout it to the world until his throat was torn. Yuri thinks the same and even feels a complete idiot for all the times he came to doubt it; he suffered the panic that Victor would at some point abandon him. His husband would never do it, just as he didn't and he gave in to the pain, to the agony that was rewarded with a purer, sincere and real love than that of any other.

As his fingers move down and back to his damp cheeks to dry each of the tears that Victor can't contain, Yuri leans toward him and prepares, with a tingling of emptiness in his stomach. Victor suddenly tastes something sweet and warm on his lips before realizing that his husband has kissed him for the first time in his life. Yuri burns like never before. The first touch makes him retreat, but almost immediately, like an instant addiction, he returns to Victor's lips to kiss them as he always wanted to do: so deep as to suffocate, so strong and intense as to leave reflected in them forever, and that only kiss of his life was worth every tear, every gram of helplessness, every second of suffering. The taste overcomes the pain, the ecstasy to the fact that his lips melt in ardor. With his last moments of life, Victor corresponds to him like a madman and a young man in love until he fills his lungs with the breath of the other, until the taste of his own tears and those of others complement those lips that are extinguished.

And one last phrase echoes in his memories for all eternity: ' _It was enough, it always was'_.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! First of all I want to thank Jazz for trusting me and giving me this wonderful opportunity to translate her Fanfic.
> 
> This One-Shot was a challenge beacause each word is full of emotions, but I'm so glad for this opportunity. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoy this Fanfic. In the future I will do more translations (I hope so)
> 
> So, I will be waiting your comments and votes (if I made any mistake please tell me and I'll correct it).
> 
> Thank you & See You Next Level
> 
> Denis


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